


Frosty Distractions

by Draxscanas



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Awkward Cullen Rutherford, Confident Cullen, Cowgirl Position, Cullen Rutherford Smut, Cullen Rutherford in Love, Domestic Fluff, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Lingerie, Mage Trevelyan (Dragon Age), POV Cullen Rutherford, Pillow Talk, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Teasing, Undefined Female Inquisitor (Dragon Age), Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-11-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 18:48:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Draxscanas/pseuds/Draxscanas
Summary: "Trevelyan looks him right in the eye and raises her eyebrows, setting her chin high like the noblewoman she is. Then, with much aplomb, she loudly crosses the room and ascends the ladder towards his sleeping quarters in a bold movement. She does not seem to care in the slightest that this particular scene will be all over the barracks come morning, and it makes Cullen’s stomach clench with embarrassment and something else he cannot name. "
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Cullen Rutherford/Mage(s), Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Female Mage Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Kudos: 34





	Frosty Distractions

**Author's Note:**

> I tried to keep our Inquisitor fairly nondescript so it was easier to insert anybody into the mix. ♡
> 
> This takes place sometime post-game but pre-Tresspasser, because both of these two are way too bold here, haha.
> 
> Lame title is lame, thank you so much for reading!

  
  
He is in the middle of a meeting, his men listening with rapt attention, when she returns from a month-long venture in the Wastes. The central door of the tower bursts open, and all the cadets and corporals turn their heads at the intrusion, their startled stances not relaxing in the slightest when they realize just who it is that’s walked in, and a quick chorus of “Milady”s “Herald”s, and “Inquisitor”s thrum through the room as they stand just a little straighter than before. Trevelyan blinks, and Cullen watches her broad smile dim slowly down into a more discreet one, but she nods back at the group, waving her hand to indicate that they should continue. With some awkward shufflings, the soldiers-turned-schoolgirls change their direction to regard their Commander once more, most with some modicum of discomfort when their Inquisitor remains where she is, leaning against the door to close it.

  


The fact that Cullen is busy and most definitely _not_ alone causes her smile to fade into pursed lips, but she seems to resign herself to uphold some semblance of self-restraint. He casts her an apologetic look before clearing his throat and continuing to go over the duty roster, assigning tasks and taking requests. Trevelyan’s patience quickly wanes when she seems to realize that, sorry though he may be to take so long, he does not appear to be hurrying in the least. This is not on purpose nor entirely his fault, but all the same, Cullen can tell that it is irritating her -- of course it is. She’d been gone for over a month; he has the letters in his desk to prove that she’s missed him as much as he's missed her. He tries not to laugh like an idiot at that thought, though despite his efforts he still ends up with a stupid grin on his face (which only lasts for a moment before he remembers himself).

  


The Inquisitor’s stance turns from relaxed, to fidgety, to downright defiant as Cullen continues to drone on. It is when he pauses to listen politely to a guardsman’s concerns about one particular patch of crumbling masonry that she finally pushes off from the wall with an exhale of obvious frustration. A few heads turn in her direction, but she pays them no mind. Trevelyan looks him right in the eye and raises her eyebrows, setting her chin high like the noblewoman she is. Then, with much aplomb, she loudly crosses the room and ascends the ladder towards his sleeping quarters in a bold movement. She does not seem to care in the slightest that this particular scene will be all over the barracks come morning, and it makes Cullen’s stomach clench with embarrassment and something else he cannot name. 

  


He shakes his head, pressing at his temple wearily before continuing on. Some of his men give him incredulous looks, whilst others merely look sheepish. He will not be perturbed; she knows that he has his duties to fulfill, and will most likely be patient now that she has something soft to recline on. He’d procured some extra blankets and pillows at her behest, and the bookshelf she’d moved up there has been filled with tomes in her absence. Doubtless she will find something to amuse herself with until he can finally join her. 

  


Unfortunately for Commander Cullen, his Lady Inquisitor is having none of that. 

  


He is unsure of what he is hearing at first; there are a few nondescript thumps and the creaking of wood, and thus he murmurs gentle apologies to his men, supposing it is just taking a while for her to settle in. It is not until he hears the sounds of various items of _clothing_ getting tossed around his room that a flush begins to unfurl over Cullen’s features, starting at his throat and working its way up to his ears. He swallows heavily when the hissing sound of a belt slides across the floor and tumbles down the ladder (one of the newer recruits jumps). 

  


He takes in a deep breath, a look of long-suffering writing itself over his features, and is starting on the last few items of note when one of the men in back begins to shiver. Others soon follow suit, rubbing their hands down their arms to try and get warm. The window behind him is closed, as are both doors, which can only mean--

  


Cullen casts his eyes over towards the ladder, and frowns as he sees a pair of narrowed, mischievous eyes staring back at him, fingers curled over the edge of the wood. Said fingers are also _glowing_ , their soft blue light shepherding a thin layer of frost slowly over the ceiling. 

  


_‘Maker’s Breath.’_

  


"My apologies to all of you; there must be some hole that still remains in the woodwork somewhere. I will take care to fix it before our next meeting, you have my word. That will be all for this evening -- we’ll reconvene tomorrow after morning drills to continue this discussion."

  


His soldiers cannot seem to evacuate fast enough, and Cullen knows that it’s not just the cold that has them bolting from his study. When the last man is out of sight, he heaves out a long sigh, rubbing his neck in exasperation. He can feel Trevelyan still watching him, the cold draft of her magic beginning to recede, but he ignores her for the moment. He stacks the papers on his desk intro neat and organized piles, taking his time with the task. It is the least she deserves, after all that. She exhales loudly again, a demanding huff of air, but still he does not look at her as he walks around to the front of his desk, pushing his hair back and out of his eyes; pretending afterwards to fiddle with his gauntlets. 

  


With a sudden rush of his warrior's strength, he hurls himself towards the ladder at last, and he hears her shriek in surprise as she scrambles away from the edge. He curses the weight of his armor only because it slows him, but despite that he is still up and over the obstacle within seconds. 

  


He gains his bearings quickly, seeking her out with battle-trained prowess. She's almost completely devoid of all her clothing, skin turned golden in the lantern-light. Her eyes are wide and she has retreated back into a corner in surprise, but there is a triumphant glee in her movements as she stares him down. And then, all at once, they stride towards another full force, meeting halfway. 

  


Dark and brutal kisses are exchanged hungrily, her nimble fingers making quick work of his belt as he tries to see if he can take off his gauntlets _and_ play with her hair (he can’t). He should probably wonder how she knows to take off his mantle so quickly but he doesn’t; he is too focused on getting his damn gloves off so he can finally feel the softness of her skin. As the heavy fur slides off his shoulders down to the floor, her mouth hits him with a barrage of smaller kisses to his jaw, obviously pleased with herself. Finding it difficult to release the buckles on his breastplate, she gives up and brings her hands down to press against the front of his breeches instead, and that gives her a much more satisfying reaction anyway.

  


“You’re going to be the death of me one of these days,” he grits out, wincing as his gauntlets and pauldrons fall to the floor with loud clatters (it is a miracle they miss her bare feet). Her only response is a snort that turns into another kiss.

  


"If you would follow good advice and relax every once in a while, I might go easier on you," she teases, rucking up his tunic and undershirt to start on the laces of his trousers. She slides clever fingers down into his smalls to take him in hand, and Cullen makes a brief hum in his throat that sounds strangely desperate. He releases her from his mouth with a hiss through his teeth, scooping her from under with both hands now. He straightens his stance and turns her to press her back against one of the walls' tapestries, and he feels the softness of her doeskin breeches as her legs wrap around him, along with her long, grasping arms about his neck. 

  


Once Cullen frees himself of the confines of his own trousers, he turns his attentions to undoing hers, fighting past the straining fog of her pressed against him pressed against the wall. He knows that his attentions have already gotten her shamefully aroused; he can feel the dampness between her thighs as he presses himself against her. 

  


One of Trevelyan's hands keeps purchase on the wall whilst the other drifts down between them to help Cullen along, their fingers fumbling against each other in their haste to get themselves starkers. Once they're loosened enough, she shimmies out of her pants, grinning at the satisfying noise that the leathers make as they fall to the floor. Then with a shrug of the shoulders and a tightening of her legs around Cullen to keep her balance, she lets her tunic join them in seconds. She arches her back, putting herself on display for him, clad only in a pair of delicate Orleaian lace undergarments that leave nothing to the imagination. She bites at her bottom lip, her eyes dark and full of stormy fire as she lets out a quiet moan against his curious hands when they palm a breast before sliding down to flick at the small ribbons against her mound. 

  


"I put them on just for you when I realized that you were going to be here," she purrs, her Ostwick accent thick and husky with her lust. "Courtesy of Josephine. There's a matching négligée that goes with it that I can show you later, if you like. "

  


Cullen grins such a devilish spread that even he is caught off guard by the traces of lust it leaves in his voice. 

  


"Remind me to thank her," he all but growls, helping her out of her panties one leg at a time. He looks at her honestly, passionately, pressing kisses to her collarbone and breasts in reverence, almost as if he expects her to vanish into thin air like some dream. His iris flits back and forth between her eyes, asking if it was alright to go now, but not without guiding himself up to her first, against her. His eyes fall closed with a vocal gasp for just a moment as they touch and he notices just how completely she anticipates him, but he gathers himself, already panting slightly and looks to her again, half-lucid.

  


The Inquisitor bucks upwards on instinct, panting as the harsh scent of their arousal spikes the air. Her nostrils flare as she breathes out harshly, her chest heaving with the quickness of her breaths. Cullen's voice is dark and harsh against the air as he gasps, causing ripples through her form when his breath ghosts across the sensitive flesh of her stomach. She relaxes herself to roll her hips against his manhood, tongue flicking over her lips restlessly. 

  


She arches beneath him, pulling him upwards and into her with one fierce movement as her voice hitches off into a choked gasp, but with a firm growl that sends ripples of violet magic down her skin, she moves against him, already feeling her own power dulling her senses. 

  


Cullen is normally one to slow down or take it at a slow pace; he's always been a gentle personality, even when he was young, yet he can't stop himself from speeding up as soon as he feels the tingling sensation of purple electricity sing across his skin. He'd been fearful the first time it happened, but it's something he has grown to anticipate, to watch her body unfurl and open to all the pleasure he can possibly give her. He gives her an apologetic kiss because he can't help but set this brutal pace with the feel of her around him, something he's waited such a long time for. He's been patient, not just to sleep with her, but for a person he felt held the last bit of his life in their hand, and he is glad for it, too. 

  


Trevelyan lets go of the wall to latch onto him, her nails digging into his back as she tightens the grip of her legs, choking on his name and gasping as her back begins to stick fast to the tapestry.

  


_Inhale, hold, exhale._ Skin against skin, hands in each other's hair; there is nothing but dull throbbing and the sound of their euphoric rhythm for several long minutes. 

  


The searing heat in Cullen's body overwhelms him and his long forgotten cries of actual pleasure stain the air with hushed tones of affection. His arms pull her closer until he slows, noticing the reddening of her skin from the material of the drapery; when she hisses through her teeth, it gives him pause, but only for a moment before he takes her with little effort (adrenaline, he would assume if he had half a brain right this second) across the room, sliding down onto the edge of his-- _their-_ -bed. 

  


The moonlight is filtering in from the breaks in the ceiling, creating a halo around Trevelyan that blends with the magic simmering behind her eyes, and looking up at his love on his lap as she shines like the sun in this moment, his breath comes out heavy against her ribcage. Even if it wasn't really Andraste, there is no doubt in his mind that she has been sent from the Maker as a Herald of change. He doesn't know what he's done to warrant the gift of her love; honored and Blessed to be in her presence. To be allowed to bask in her glow and to be the only one that can pull her down and fully into his lap, making her voice ring out suddenly at the change in angle, his thrusts striking a new spot deep inside her, the embers from the fire earlier flaring back into life. She is his savior, his last remaining ray of light, his Fade-touched goddess that has chosen him of all others to be her paramour. He tries to voice his words in something poetic and worthy of this moment, but she rolls her hips and presses herself down upon him as she grips the back of his hair and tilts his head so that their lips whisper across each other, their mingling breaths visible in the night air.

  


He knows she likes to be atop him, enjoys the command of it, of how she smiles and keeps one hand on the small of her back and one over a breast to feel his calluses against the soft flesh there. He cants his hips upwards like his life depends on it, and perhaps it does, because there's nothing but else other than he loves, he loves, he loves her. 

  


"Soon," is all he manages to croak out before the noises in his throat return, racing to be heard over his pants and gasps. 

  


Trevelyan grips him to her when he jolts upwards, desperately attempting to keep him hitting that sweet spot as she grinds down into him, her nipples scraping against his chest and making him whine at the feeling; it starts a quickening that he feels at her center where they are conjoined, the pleasure rippling throughout her form as each thrust and jolt of his body rubs against her sensitive, unmarred skin. 

  


_"Now,"_ she breathes out, biting at his lips, his jaw, his neck; fingers gripping onto his shoulders and they're cold, the tips of her fingers glowing ice blue, and it feels glorious against his too-hot flesh.

  


He goes faster still, determined like the Templar he once was, and he all but stands as he comes inside her, his eyes shut like he's sleeping as he sighs out and gasps in over and over. Like an instinct, he continues moving as he rides out the harsh crash of his orgasm, and he listens for her to do the same, prays she does, _prays_ that she isn't hurt, that he's done nothing wrong. But when she rakes her nails down his back, shuddering and eyes blown wide as she drags his name out into his skin, recognizing the mingling sensation of their spirits, he knows she's claimed him, now and forevermore.

  


As Cullen's movements slow and eventually still, he leans back against the pillows, regaining some semblance of where and who he is, still inside her. There's an owl somewhere, hooting loudly, and there's a breeze through the trees, rustling the leaves into sounds he wasn't sure he entirely wanted to recognize yet. He listens to her breath rise and fall in synchronization with his, and he smiles at her with all of him, kissing the side of her neck with a tender, lingering adoration. 

  


A few more moments pass before he states aloud, simple as the fact it is: "I love you." before he lets her slide away gently onto his bed, soft with furs and plush fabrics. He catches the evidence of her nails as he spots the reflection of his back in the glass mirror on the far wall. His mind flashes forward to times he'll be sitting in the war room listening to Lelianna explain a spy tactic or something absolutely boring, and he'll undoubtedly feel them twitch in vivid memorandum. 

  


"Even if you do leave obvious marks all over me like the wild mage temptress you are," he teases her, leaping onto the bed and rolling over to hover above her naked form. 

  


"What do you have to say for yourself?" he asks, grinning at her, eyes moving from her lips to her breasts, then back up to her eyes glittering in the lantern-light.

  


His cheeky Inquisitor stretches languorously beneath him, leaving her scent all over his bed that he knows will comfort him later and does nothing but make him want to keep her here forever. She rests her arms around his shoulders, playing with the sweat-dampened curls she finds there before running her fingers along his back to feel the damage she caused. Luckily she does come away with blood, but her smile is not sorry in the slightest. 

  


"You like it, don't even try to deny it," she growls at him, lifting her head to lick at his lip, leaving a scant trace of her teeth. She laughs, resting her head back down. "Mm, no. You don't just like it. You love it. Like you love me," she says, her smile turning just a touch silly as her ears pink. She kisses him once. 

  


"Like I love you." she adds as she pulls away, the heaviness of the emotion lightened only by another small laugh. 

  


He grins, rolling into his back next to her with a quiet oof; he sighs out with his smile, starting to feel more than just a little rejuvenated, but for now, he'd rather keep her close to him and soak up the Light he finds in her. He casts his eyes over her form again, hand reaching out to play bold fingers over the muscle of her torso. 

  


"Then I guess we'll be sharing a bed from now on." he says it not as a demand, but as a truth as he traces shapes near her navel, still smiling, giddy like a squire. 

  


Trevelyan's lashes flutter as she sucks in a harsh breath, the skin of her belly rising into gooseflesh at his touch. She gives an uncontrolled squeak of a laugh, twitching at his movements. 

  


"Mm, careful there. You'll have to go another round if ya keep that up," she chuckles, eyes roving over him as her grin turns impish. She rolls over, draping herself across his chest as she explores the contours of his face, mapping it in lazy lines that lack any true sense of direction. 

  


"But then again, if I'm to be stayin' right here for the rest of eternity, then I suppose you'll gain the stamina, won't you?" she says, affirming this statement with a kiss. 

  


Cullen doesn't respond, only smiles into the collision of their mouths, tugging her on top of him.

  


"I'd like to see you try to outlast me," he says with an honest smile that is so natural for him. 

  


Trevelyan sits upright upon his lap, tilting her head to the side. 

  


"Is that a challenge?" she asks, tongue sticking out between her teeth with impudence. 

  


Cullen smirks, eyes flying back open as he snatches her, rolling the two of them over in a sudden rush of energy, and Trevelyan wraps her legs around him once again as he descends upon her, her bright laughter echoing around the room.

  



End file.
